


like blooms of fire.

by gazing



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Begging, Canon Compliant, Exhibitionism, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Sexual Tension, Smut, Sort Of, Tenderness, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gazing/pseuds/gazing
Summary: It starts innocently enough. By the time Grace realises it’s gone too far, it’s too late.
Relationships: Frankie Bergstein/Grace Hanson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 67





	like blooms of fire.

Grace Hanson is always on time.

Frankie knows this, like she knows each of her paintbrushes and the rushing sound of the sea. After years in her company Frankie has come to rely on the simple fact that Grace always has a schedule, and she  always sticks to it. After all, it’s what’s caused so much of the conflict between them over the years.

So when Grace leaves for a girl’s day with her daughters, Frankie assumes she’ll be out for quite a while. Yes, Grace will come home in the evening wanting tea and a book, exhausted from a long day around people, but she also genuinely loves spending time with her family. It’ll be a few hours at least, Frankie had thought. She had nothing to worry about.

She loves Grace’s company, perhaps too much, but there  are benefits to being home alone. Frankie can make a lot of noise, for instance, and can generally be a nuisance if she wishes to be - though it’s decidedly less fun to be irritating without her best friend there to nag her. And when Grace leaves, it gives Frankie the time and space to indulge in a little pleasure, to relax with, or without, her vibrator.

This is how she ends up on the sofa, bare legs spread. Frankie has kept her sweater on, as the living room is a little chilly, but she enjoys the feeling of the sofa against her bare legs, and her pussy. She could do this in her bedroom, if she wanted to, or even the studio. But there’s always been something about exposure that’s turned her on.

There are the tall windows, that anyone could see into. And then there’s the door, that Grace might walk through at anytime. It’s unlikely, Frankie thinks, that Grace would break her usual schedule. But it’s exciting to think about Grace walking in and seeing her like this. It makes a tingling warmth glow in her stomach.

There’s a gentle buzz in the room as Frankie runs the vibrator over the insides of her thighs. The touch is light, as she feels like she can take her time. The idea of slowly build herself up and up in the cold living room is enticing.

She brushes the vibrator lightly over the top of her pussy and it’s a sensitive pleasure, a soft touch that leaves her aching for more. Frankie tries not to rush, but she can’t help but spread her legs wider on the sofa, and intentionally brush over her clit with the tip of the vibrator.

Frankie has always had a vivid imagination. She uses it, now, to imagine Grace seeing her like this, imagines Grace watching her slowly unravel. She can feel the sofa growing damp beneath her, and presses the vibrator against her clit, gasping at the rougher, more satisfying feeling it brings.

“Ah.” Frankie moans, running it back and forth over her clit.

How does Grace like to do this, she thinks, pressing the vibrator harder against her clit. Does she like to tease herself like this? Does she prefer the penetration, the fullness of the vibrator inside of her?

Each image spurs Frankie on. By now, she’s used to imagining Grace like this. Even before they were friends, Frankie would often secretly get off on the thought of her, this ice cold, hard woman. Now the dreams have more tenderness to them, but they’re no less frequent, and even after so many years they still bring her to orgasm.

Frankie rubs harder on her clit with the vibrator, another moan low in her throat. Eventually she manages to pull away from it, and teases the entry of her pussy instead.

“Oh.” She breathes, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. It’s divine, that feeling before you enter, the anticipation before the vibrator goes inside of you. She isn’t ready for it yet - she has to spread herself wider with her fingers, fighting the urge to fuck herself with two right there and then.

Then she’s ready. It feels full and good when Frankie finally pushes the vibrator inside. She tries to let herself adjust to the size, but her hips buck, wanting more. Slowly she pushes in and out, another moan catching in her throat.

“Fuck.” Frankie breathes, the vibrator buzzing inside of her. She moves it faster, creating a fucking glorious rhythm.

She almost doesn’t hear the key turn in the door.

Frankie moves faster than she thought possible. She turns off the vibrator and throws a blanket that was lying on the arm of the sofa over her bare legs. She’s still wet and needy, and she knows her cheeks are bright red, but she can easily lie about that. Her hands rest on her thighs, and if she wanted to, she could...

“Frankie!” A warm voice calls, “I’ve had the most awful day, and I-“

Grace wanders into the living room. She’s wearing this tight pink suit, but her hair isn’t as sensible and permed as it was when she left. It looks softer, windswept. She gives Frankie a distracted smile as she throws her bag on the table and runs a hand through her hair.

“Dear god, people these days really don’t have manners. I suppose I should be used to that by now, since I live with you, but it really never gets any easier.” Grace starts. She turns towards Frankie, and pauses, her eyebrows narrowing. “Are you alright? You look flushed.”

Frankie clears her throat.

“I’m fine.” She says, hoarse.

Grace strides over to her, in her high heels, and presses a palm against Frankie’s forehead. When she looks down into Frankie’s face, Frankie whimpers. God, she thinks. Why is almost being caught making her wetter?

“You don’t have a fever.” She murmurs. Frankie averts her gaze, her hands trembling on her thighs. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I-“ Frankie gasps when Grace’s hand flutters from her forehead to her hair. “Ah.”

Grace gives her a strange look.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“You worry too much, Grace.” Frankie says, weakly, and it doesn’t seem to convince Grace. Her eyes flicker to Frankie’s bare knee, not covered by the blanket.

“Were you walking around with no pants on again?” She asks lightly, “It’s getting too cold for that.”

“Grace.” Is all Frankie can say, and then she bites her lip. She wills herself to stop speaking. Grace seems to hesitate, her hand still in Frankie’s hair.

“Frankie,” She starts, slowly, “Were you-“

Grace shakes her head, and removes her hand. She walks away and falls onto the other sofa.

“Nevermind.” She says, brightly, though it sounds a little shaky. “I think we have an episode of that game show left to catch up with, if you’re not busy?”

Frankie let’s out a non committal hum. Grace gives Frankie one last unreadable glance before turning to stare pointedly at the TV screen.

Frankie let’s out a relieved breath. But she’s still soaking wet, and the memory of Grace’s hands on her head, in her hair, are doing nothing to help. Careful to hide her movements under the blanket, Frankie runs a finger slowly through her wetness.

Grace doesn’t seem to notice. Frankie’s finger brushes over her clit and she lets out a tiny breath, but Grace doesn’t even glance her way. It’s strange, Frankie thinks, she hates these television shows. But she’s distracted by the warm arousal she feels as she rubs her clit very slowly, trying not to make her movements obvious.

But oh, it feels so good. Frankie can feel the pleasure building, and she tries not to stare at Grace, but it’s hard when the entire situation is making her so wet. Can’t Grace tell, she thinks, feeling bold enough to rub herself a little faster? But Grace makes no sign that anything at all is amiss, and so Frankie continues.

“Fuck.” She whispers. She thinks she sees Grace’s ears turn pink, but maybe it’s the sunset.

“How was your day?” Grace suddenly asks. Her eyes flicker over to Frankie, bright and twinkling. And  oh,  Frankie thinks. She knows. Surely she must know.

Frankie takes in a shaky breath.

“Good.” She says, “I, uh, I was busy.”

Is that a smirk, pulling at the edges of Grace’s smile?

“Clearly.” She drawls, and turns back to the television. 

It spurs Frankie on. She let’s herself be rough, and surely it must be clear what she’s doing now, but Grace stares at television and doesn’t say a word. Even over the hum of the TV Frankie can hear those delightful wet sounds. Surely Grace must be able to, as well.

“I also wanted to say.” Grace begins, her eyes flickering over to Frankie again. There, in her cheeks, isn’t there a flush of pink? “That you need to stop using so much milk. I can hardly make coffee anymore. I have no idea what you’re using it for, but please. Go easy on it.”

“I’ll, uh,  ah ,” Frankie covers her moan with a cough, “I’ll keep that in mind, Grace.”

The silence following is warm and tense, and Grace meets her eyes as Frankie fucks her clit harder. Frankie comes, her eyes fluttering shit, arching a little in the seat, and she bites her lip hard so not to make a sound. When she finally settles, feeling a conflict of shame and pleasure, she catches Grace staring at her. There’s a long, tense pause as they look at each other and try to figure out why, and how, and what to do next.

“What would you like for dinner?” Grace asks quietly. And that’s that, Frankie thinks. It’s just another thing not to talk about. 

*

In her mind, Grace has started referring to that evening as the  incident .

She’s reminded of it at the most inappropriate times. Driving or working or eating breakfast, she’ll suddenly think of the outline of Frankie’s hands, moving subtly under the blankets. And, whenever she tries to use her vibrator now, or simply touch herself in the dark hours when she can’t sleep, all she sees is the expression on Frankie’s face when she came. Over and over again.

It took Grace a long time to get used to Frankie’s company. Even longer to consider Frankie her best friend in the entire world, and her favourite person, too. But this... this was something else. This is terrifying and lovely and it’s also very, very real and Grace is doing her damned best to ignore it.

But whenever she sees Frankie now she feels this hint of auroral and curiosity, along with the deep love between them too, and it startles Grace. But it excites her, too.

She knows Frankie would be a good lover. The daydream of herself loving Frankie, kissing her, having sex with her, has crossed Grace’s mind in the past, but Grace has become an expert at ignoring her feelings. But watching your best friend fuck herself on your sofa, and feeling not disgust, but affection and a warm sting of arousal, certainly has a way of making everything seem more real. It’s hard to ignore the evidence when it’s sitting right in front of you, making these delightful little sounds.

And anyway, things are so much better between them lately. They laugh more, and Grace feels so relaxed in Frankie’s company nowadays. Even when she’s angry at Frankie, there’s this teasing hint to it too, this fond, warm little spark that makes Grace feel more giddy and aroused than annoyed.

Sometimes, Grace finds herself moaning a little louder, letting herself express her pleasure freely on the nights she touches herself. She imagines so many different scenarios that they all blend into this warm daydream, this hope of... something happening between the two of them.

Still, when Frankie brings it up, in her typical direct fashion, Grace avoids it.

“Are we going to talk about the other night, Gracie?” She asks one late morning, through a mouthful of pancakes. Grace is drinking her coffee as she reads, and she tries not to choke when she hears the question.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She says, and Frankie’s chuckle causes a warmth to bloom in her stomach.

“Yeah, right, and I’m Oprah.” Frankie scoffs. Grace meets her gaze across the room, her eyes crinkle, and their smiles say more than words could, anyway.

“Listen, there’s no problem.” Grace says, and Frankie’s face shifts with realisation. “It’s all good, Frankie.”

“You mean... Really?”

“Really.” Grace smiles shyly, and looks down at her book.

“Hm.” Frankie hums in thought. She grabs her plate of pancakes and steps out of the kitchen. She’s probably going to do something ridiculous, Grace thinks fondly, and turns back to her book.

Perhaps it’s inevitable, Grace thinks, when it happens again. After all, from the moment she sat down opposite Frankie on that sofa the first time, there was no going back. She’d known, from the flush in Frankie’s cheeks, what Frankie had been doing before she came home. And she stayed anyway.

To what? To tease her? The thought makes Grace flush.

One evening she comes downstairs in only a bath towel, her hair wet against the back of her neck. Frankie, God forbid, is making dinner tonight, and Grace took the opportunity to relax in the bath. She’s a little flustered - she’d touched herself in the bath, but just enough to make her wet and aroused, not enough to come. Perhaps Grace  wanted something to happen tonight. 

When she steps into the kitchen Frankie js dancing around, and singing along to a classical rock song on the radio. 

“Having fun?” Grace asks fondly. Frankie turns and her eyes flicker over Grace’s body. 

“Grace.” Frankie says, and blinks at her. Grace feels warm and desperate under Frankie’s awed stare. “I, uh. Dinner’s ready.” 

Grace smiles and sits down at her chair, crossing her bare legs. Frankie sets the plate in front of her then sits down, too, her eyes tracing the droplets of water on Grace’s shoulders.

“Did you, uh, did you have a nice bath?” Frankie asks.

“I did.” Grace says. She shifts in her seat, still wet. The wood of the chair brushes against her pussy, separated only by her dressing gown and the thin fabric of her knickers. “It was heavenly. There really is nothing better after a long day.”

Frankie nods, her cheeks full with food. She’s gorgeous under the light of the sunrise, Grace thinks, and underneath her arousal is an awe, a feeling of affection. There’s no one in the world like her, Grace thinks.

“You’re so beautiful, Grace,” Frankie says, and Frankie compliments her all the time, but lately it’s been sending a bolt of pleasure through her. Grace shifts in her seat again.

“Frankie.” She warns, trying to laugh it off, 

“No, really,” Frankie says, gazing at her, and her voice is low and heavy. One of Grace’s hands slips under the table and lands on her thigh. “You’re stunning.”

“Do you think so?” Grace asks.

“I’ve always thought so.” Frankie murmurs, and Grace’s hand travels up the inside of her thigh. It feels warm and soft, and achingly sensitive. “It’s kind of unfair, that you can be clever and funny and independent, but you’re also so pretty. Really, Grace, leave something for the rest of us.”

The compliments make Grace’s stomach flip flop. Her finger brushes over the outside of her pussy over her knickers. They’re damp with her wetness. 

“Don’t flatter me.” Grace jokes, and Frankie’s eyes are dark and warm as she turns back to her food. 

“Fine.” She says. She gives Grace a tiny smile. 

And now that there’s silence, Grace wants to say please,  please tell me I’m good. She rubs herself through her knickers but it’s not enough.

Grace makes a soft noise and Frankie blinks at her.

“What?” Frankie asks.

“Ah,” Grace breathes, “Nothing, Frankie.”

Frankie pauses. Her eyes have taken on a knowing glint. 

“Oh.” Frankie hums. She looks up at Grace, holding her gaze. “Okay, darling.”

Ah. The nickname is warm and sweet but it makes Grace feel hot with longing. She slips her hand inside of her panties and almost moans at the wetness she feels there. Grace quickly finds her clit and begins to rub in earnest.

“You haven’t touched your food.” Frankie teases.

“‘M not hungry.”

“Oh, really?” Frankie winks at her, and it sends a shiver down Grace’s spine. “You could’ve fooled me.”

Grace pushes a finger inside of herself. It’s an awkward position, her legs spread on the chair, but it feels divine as she thrusts in and out. She swallows a moan when she feels Frankie’s bare foot brush against her own, and then rub against her ankle.

“Looks like there’s going to be a storm tomorrow.” Frankie says casually. I don’t give a fuck about the weather, Grace thinks, desperately fucking herself with her fingers at the table.

Eventually, warm and wet under Frankie’s stare, Grace comes. She keeps her eyes open, and the pleasure is unlike any she’s ever felt before. The silence that follows is warm, and tense, but it isn’t awkward.

“Do you want me to do the dishes?” Frankie asks, and Grace laughs.

*

Maybe this is just an extension of their friendship.

Grace decides, later, that whatever is happening between them really isn’t that much of a change. Their dynamic is still the same. They still love each other as best friends, and they still have fun and argue and work together. There’s just something else, now, too: the knowledge that they can seek pleasure in each other’s company.

Because Grace has found that there’s nothing more joyful to her than seeing Frankie experience pleasure. A few times now, hidden on the sofa or under the table, Grace has seen Frankie come to orgasm. And it’s the most delightful thing to watch. 

It would be perfect, really, if both of them didn’t want... more. It’s this inability to talk about it, Grace thinks, this fear that if we voice it it’ll disappear. Because with this arrangement had come subtlety, and the ability to go on as they always had. 

They were too old to lose each other now. But honestly, if Frankie doesn’t touch her soon, Grace thinks she might die. 

She thinks about it more, and more. Frankie always has this warm, serious look in her eyes when she watches Grace masturbate. It’s so unlike her usual gaze and it haunts Grace, but she knows the reality of Frankie touching her, of Frankie making love to her, of Frankie fucking her, would just be so much more glorious. 

The dream follows Grace everywhere, but it seems so out of reach. That is, until one night, when Grace knows Frankie is out back painting the balcony. She steps into the cool air in a flimsy silk nightgown and sits in one of the deck chairs while Frankie paints. She’s in her dungarees, cute and pretty under the stars. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Frankie greets warmly. She glances at Grace and gives her a once over before turning back to the sky. “You look pretty.”

Ever since that evening in the kitchen, Frankie has been complimenting like this. Each time it gives Grace a shiver of arousal.

“How’s the painting?” Grace asks.

“Shit.” Frankie laughs. “But it’s getting there.” 

The cool air feels pleasant on Grace’s skin. She pulls at her nightgown, exposing her collarbones and shoulders. Frankie glances at her again, her eyes lingering on Grace’s skin.

The attention is refreshing. No lover ever looked at Grace with such reverence, before. It makes her bold, and Grace leans back in the chair, exposing a little of her breast as she does.

“Did you come here to be a menace?” Frankie asks, her eyes glinting under the moonlight.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Grace says, holding Frankie’s gaze and running a hand through her hair. Frankie’s eyes darken and she turns back to the painting.

Grace smiles to herself. She feels a little chilly but happy under the night sky, and what’s the shame of having a little fun with Frankie, anyway? If they’ve made it this far, then perhaps she could push the boundaries just a little more... see how far she can push Frankie before one of them inevitably breaks. It excites her to think of it. 

Grace runs a hand over the inside of her thighs and sighs. Frankie glances at her, and Grace thinks she maybe should be nervous, but she isn’t. Not around Frankie. This is new for them - they’ve always touched themselves over the cover of secrecy, hiding and swallowing their noises. Grace has nowhere to hide in her nightgown, as she brushes her fingers over the outside of her pussy.

“What are you looking at?” Grace asks, “That painting won’t paint itself.”

Frankie grumbles under her breath about Grace Hanson as she paints. Grace watches, one of her hands cupping her breast and the other running lightly over her pussy.

She applies a little pressure to her clit, and the feeling is lovely, even lovelier in Frankie’s company. Grace trusts the other woman to see her like this, and that’s a trust she doesn’t place easily in others - all of her life she’s been insecure about her body. Vulnerability comes so naturally with Frankie, though, and it feels so good. 

“Ah.” Grace breathes, tweaking her nipple and rubbing her clit faster. She looks over at Frankie, who’s knuckles are white as she grips her paintbrush. “Fuck.”

Frankie bites her lip as she tries to focus on her painting of the night sky. 

Grace moans, a little louder, and slips a finger inside of herself. She knows Frankie can see everything, when she looks over at her, the sound of the sea mixing with Grace’s moans. And being seen like this makes the two of them so aroused, Grace knows.

She feels so full and it feels so good, but once again Grace longs for Frankie. Frankie, who’s soft hair is falling around her flushed face, who’s looking at her like she’s a God. She longs for her touch, for her kiss, and she keeps her eyes open to savour Frankie’s presence as she thrusts inside of herself.

“Frankie.” She whines, without meaning to. And at the sound of her name falling from Grace’s lips, Frankie snaps.

“Fuck you.” She says.

She strides over to the deck chair and leans down, kissing Grace roughly, her hand tangled in her hair. She tastes of fruit, of love and the night sky, and of course kissing her feels like this - like coming home.

Frankie sighs, against her mouth, her hands brushing over Grace’s neck, her shoulders. 

“Jesus, Grace.”

“Frankie,” Grace murmurs, wet and needy. She kisses her again, though, because it’s so sweet, it’s everything she needs. “Frankie I want you to- I need you to touch me. Please-“

“Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to for so long.” Frankie says, pressing a kiss to Grace’s collarbone. “God, you’ve been driving me crazy.” 

“Sorry.” Grace breathes, and Frankie shakes her head and kisses her again.

“No, no, Grace.” Frankie smiles, her hands running up Grace’s thighs, “You’re such a good girl.” 

“Oh.” Grace moans.

“You like that, hm?” Frankie’s hands are firm on her thighs, and she leans back, looking down at Grace with twinkling eyes. “Look at you. You’re an angel.”

Grace tries to touch herself again, to relieve the tension that feels so warm and good, but Frankie stops her.

“My turn.” She says, and smiles like a cat. “I’m going to make you feel good, love.”

Frankie kneels down, on the patio, and it just hurt her old knees, but if it does she doesn’t complain. Her hands are firm around Grace’s thighs as she leans into taste her.

“Oh.” She murmurs, awed, and presses a kiss to her pussy. “Do you want this, Grace?”

“Yes.” Grace breathes. 

“Hm.” Frankie hums, maddeningly close to her wetness, yet staying completely still. “Say please.”

“Ah.” Grace shivers at the commanding tone in Frankie’s voice. “Please.”

Frankie leans forward and licks at her, slowly, her tongue brushing over Grace’s clit. It’s warm and it’s so right, so completely lovely. Grace sighs and Frankie smiles against her.

“Does it feel good?”

Grace tangles her hands in Frankie’s hair, that soft, curly hair, and Frankie looks up at her with a smile.

“Frankie.” She says again, “Please.”

Frankie smirks and licks at her again. She circles Grace’sclit, and sucks it into her mouth.

“Fuck.” Grace breathes. “Please.  Please,  Frankie.” 

“Grace Hanson, begging?” Frankie murmurs, and scrapes her teeth lightly on Grace’s skin. 

“Yes.” Grace says, bucking into Frankie’s face, “Please.”

“You’re divine.” Frankie smiles, “I have a better idea.”

She pulls away from Grace and Grace whimpers, but she comes back again, kissing Grace deeply. Her hands go between Grace’s legs, and she strokes her there as she kisses her.

Grace gasps into the kiss.

“Just fuck me.” She pleads.

“Darling.” Frankie laughs, but it’s shaky. There’s an aroused flush in her cheeks, on her neck. Her touch is growing faster and rougher.

She presses a finger gently inside of Grace.

“You feel good.” Frankie says. Grace spots Frankie’s other hand, rubbing frantically between her own legs, through her dungarees. 

Frankie thrusts in and out of Grace, with one and then two fingers, her breath hot on Grace’s neck. It’s intimate, and it feels good, too, feels so much better than her own hands.

“I love you, you know.” Frankie breathes, as she fucks Grace fast and hard, despite their aging bodies. “I really love you.”

“Ah.” Grace whimpers, wet and full. “Frankie.”

“Such a gorgeous girl.” Frankie says softly, trembling, “Look at you.”

Grace clenches, breathing hard, caught under Frankie’s stare. Frankie has a way with her fingers, that makes Grace melt underneath her, that makes her feel completely overcome.

“Frankie.” She moans. 

She comes, and Frankie shudders and rubs herself faster through her dungarees, coming too. The moment feels like a beginning, like a new start after so many misunderstandings, and Grace let’s out a long, content sigh.

Frankie smiles at her. Shining with moonlight, her face is pink and glowing.

“What now?” She asks.

But nothing has to change, Grace realises. They are as they’ve always been.

“How did you get so good at this?” Grace asks. Frankie’s eyes twinkle.

“I didn’t know you had it in you.” She retorts.

“Yeah, neither did I.” Grace smiles back, slightly embarassed. 

Frankie suddenly leans forward and wraps her arms around Grace, in a tight and warm hug. Grace hugs her back, smiling against Frankie’s chest. She smells of paint and the sea and home.

“Let’s talk more.” Frankie says.

“Yeah.” Grace huffs a laugh against Frankie’s chest. 

“Are we on the same page?” Frankie asks. There’s a whole universe in her eyes. There’s a whole other story in front of them.

“Of course.” Grace says. Smiles. She wants to say I love you, but she isn’t ready yet - but, much like this situation, she knows she’ll get there in the end. “We always are, in the end.”

“Yeah.” Frankie hugs her tighter. “Yeah, you’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a multi chapter fic to be working on, and instead I’m writing late night smut? anyway, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
